An Assortment Of Words

Golden Delicious

I'm not too good with faces.

I always avert my gaze from lovelorn eyes,

I never analyse the curve of velvet subtle lips,

Or the methodical habits that infer spontaneity,

But are really by deliberate design,

Affection should be crisp, and sweet,

Something to be clutched in an eager palm,

The bruised, waxy casing to be smoothed anew,

Then cut apart.